


Ain't That A Kick In The Head?

by julien_schu



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julien_schu/pseuds/julien_schu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Courier and Boone are absolute idiots, and a bored Arcade tries his hand at matchmaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a prompt at the kink meme.

Boone could feel his left eyebrow twitch.

"Hey there my little buttercup," said that Dr. Richards to the Courier, "what can I do for you?"  The doctor's tone might have sounded rather teasing to some, but as for Boone, it only made him want to wipe that smile off the man's face with the butt of his rifle.

They were at Camp Forlorn Hope to turn in some Legion ears for much-needed caps, as well as to obtain some supplies. Then the Courier said that as long as they were here, he might as well get rads flushed out of his system. The kid's rad resistance was not all that great – ah hell, it was _pathetic._ At first Boone thought the Courier was just picky with his food when the sniper noticed that the kid avoided eating canned or boxed consumables if he could help it – heck, Boone was not too keen on the taste of two-hundred-year-old food either, but he would take rads over starvation any day – until that day a very drunk Cass had somehow forced the Courier to eat five boxes of Yum Yum Deviled Eggs in one go and the poor kid had turned green. Literally. It had been a mad scramble to get the RadAway in their packs after that.

"Just need to get some rads flushed out, doc," said the Courier. He hesitated a bit before he added, "That is, if you're not too busy with your patients."

"No, I've always got time for you, kid," said Richards. "I'm always a sucker for a pretty face. Can't have someone cute like you growing a third arm."

Boone's left eyebrow twitched a second time, then a third when he noticed that the kid's cheeks were slightly flushed as the doctor led him into the medical tent.

Arcade made a noise that sounded suspiciously like an amused chuckle. Boone turned and asked, "What are you lookin' at?"

The Follower shrugged. "Sometimes I ask the same thing myself," he said.

"The hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

Boone merely grunted and then went inside the tent. The kid was lying down on one of the beds, while Richards was hooking him up to a RadAway. "How are you dealing with the aftereffects? You ought to be getting used to them by now."

The kid shook his head. "I don't have those stomach pains any more, but I still get headaches."

"I see. Now just lie down and relax." Richards then turned to Boone. "So, you need medical treatment too?"

The sniper shook his head and simply seated himself in one of the chairs near the Courier's bed. The kid was already half-dozing and someone needed to watch over him.

"Okay...." Richards muttered.

The doctor then got up and went to attend to his other patients, occasionally throwing a glance at the sniper and the Courier. Some time passed before the Courier groaned and slowly tried to sit up. Before Boone could assist the kid however, Richards was there to grasp him gently by the shoulders and helped him to a sitting position.

"Headache?"

The kid nodded, then winced. "Not as bad as the last time though."

"Well, if you're not feeling up to it," Richards said, "you could just stay here for tonight--"

"He'll be fine," Boone interrupted. "We need to leave early in the morning, so he should stay with us in the other tent. Arcade can keep an eye on him." Heck, if they were not out of RadAways, Boone would have made Arcade take care of the kid's radiation levels in the first place. No need for Dr. Richards.

"If you say so." Richards helped the Courier to stand up. "You take care of yourself now, little buttercup," he said as he led the kid to the tent flap, one hand placed on the small of the Courier's back.

Boone just barely managed to stop himself from letting out a low growl. Or maybe he should not have bothered.

If Richards' hand went any lower, doctor or no, Boone was going to shoot him.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

"What's with Boone?" 

Arcade looked up from his copy of _Today's Physician_ to find the Courier standing before him. The young man looked a little nervous, as well as a little confused. "Are we referring to his physical or his emotional condition? If it's the former, I can assure you he's in fine health. If it's the latter, I haven't the inclination to figure what exactly is wrong with him. As long as he's shooting other people than us, I'm perfectly all right with it," Arcade replied.

The Courier sighed. "He's been glaring at me ever since we left Forlorn Hope."

"How can you even tell? He's always got those sunglasses on."

"I just know, okay?"

Arcade let out a long sigh. "I'm sure it's nothing." When the kid did not look convinced, he gave in. "Fine, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks," the Courier said with obvious relief.

The Follower shook his head and sighed when the young man left. Why was he surrounded by idiots? Good-looking idiots, but still.

Oh, Boone and the Courier were both physically attractive. Very attractive. Boone was tall, muscular; the perfect stereotypical military man-of-mystery type. The Courier was a bit more on the lean side, but no less appealing, especially with that pale blond hair and not to mention that firm, tight ass. Hell, Arcade would have been more than happy to fuck them both, if it were not for the fact that they were both so fucking _stupid._

It was obvious to Arcade that over the past few weeks, Boone was slowly developing an attraction towards the Courier; the sniper was just too dense to figure that out himself.

The Courier on the other hand, likely had a thing for Boone from the very beginning, judging from those long glances at the sniper he took when he thought no one was looking. It was just that the poor kid was probably a little _terrified_ of Boone, especially when Boone had indeed been glaring at him ever since they left Camp Forlorn Hope. Arcade guessed that Boone had _finally_ figured out that he had feelings for the kid; he just did not know what to do with them.

Idiots.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

"Hey," Arcade greeted.

Boone did not bother to look up at Arcade, but he did grunt in acknowledgement. Well, at least Arcade _thought_ he did. The sniper was far more interested in cleaning his rifle; the weapon was stripped  and its components laid out neatly before him.

Good. That meant if anything Arcade said to Boone was not to the sniper's liking, at least Arcade did not have to worry about bullets coming his way.

"Mind if I take a seat?" Arcade asked, more out of habit than anything else. Whether Boone liked it or not, this conversation was going to take place.

Boone shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Arcade sat down next to the sniper. He had pondered earlier on the best way to approach the subject and had decided that the direct method was probably the best. Subtle hints would probably be lost on Boone. The man may be one hell of a sniper, but he had the intellectual wit of a blind Deathclaw.

A dead one. With its corpse stripped of anything worth selling.

"Anything in particular annoying you lately?" asked Arcade. "Other than the Legion."

Another shrug. "Nope."

"Good, I'll just tell our fearless leader that you're simply glaring at him out of sheer amusement. Or perhaps were you experimenting with a new image? Tired of the stoic look, maybe? Or is it simply a case of indigestion?"

The sniper stiffened. "The hell?"

It was Arcade's turn to shrug now. "You've been doing nothing but glare at him for the past few days, so he's starting to get worried."

"And he asked you to find out why?"

He smirked. "You wouldn't hit a guy wearing glasses, would you Boone?"

The sniper snorted.

Arcade rolled his eyes. "My wit is wasted on you people. Anyway, go talk to the kid or something. Or at least stop glaring – yeah, he insists that he can tell even though you're wearing those stupid sunglasses all the time. He says you've got this weird wrinkle right here," Arcade said, pointing at his own forehead, "and that's how he knows."

"Hmm."

"Funny how he notices all these little things about you. Me, I can't even tell."

"He pays attention," Boone said, as he reassembled his weapon. "Most of the time," the sniper added a moment later.

Although Boone sounded as impassive as always, the slight flush on his cheeks did not escape Arcade's notice, so the Follower took out a book and hid his smile.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

Morning arrived, and Arcade observed how Boone talked briefly to the Courier after breakfast. The kid looked a little nervous when the sniper stopped and led him some distance away from camp, but it was obvious he was relieved once Boone was done talking to him.

It was also obvious to Arcade that the kid looked just a touch disappointed when Boone left his company.

Idiots.

Well, maybe not _complete_ idiots, but both of them were _stupid_ nonetheless.

The Courier? The young man was smart – though not as intelligent as Arcade was, of course – but he was interested in science and tech, a little bit of medicine, and not much else. It amused Arcade sometimes, at how well the Courier could charm or talk his way out of trouble, but was completely _hopeless_ on other occasions – especially regarding a certain ex-First Recon man. Still, at least the kid had a very good excuse for the inconsistency; he was after all, shot in the head.

Boone was another story altogether; his idea of an intellectual exercise was probably limited to inventing horribly creative and painful ways to kill Legionaries. The sniper also had the charm of a piece of scrap metal--

No, Arcade corrected himself. At least scrap metal could be worked into something. Boone was just... _Boone._

Yeah. Dense as dry rocks, both of them.

And as much as it amused Arcade to see the Courier looking very much like a lovesick puppy when he thought no one noticed, and Boone now glaring at everyone and everything _except_ the Courier, he could not let this situation go on as it is. Who knows, it could affect the Courier's ability to make decisions, while Boone could end up being more emotionally unstable....

Wait.

Arcade blinked. Did he just come up with an odd, yet somehow plausible solution to the issue afflicting his two companions?

He smiled.

Oh hell. He had nothing better to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Boone knew that the Courier was young.

The kid could not be older than twenty-three at the most and even though he must have started his trade early, he was still relatively inexperienced compared to the sniper and some of his companions. The Courier was a more than decent shot and an adequate brawler, but there were a few times Boone – and maybe Arcade – wanted to wring the kid's neck for some of his more rash actions.

Today was one such occasion.

It was just bad luck, really, running into that group of opportunistic Powder Gangers. Normally ED-E would have warned them of any hostiles in the area, but the floating robot was not in their company since the Followers had wanted to obtain some sort of data in the eyebot and the process would take a while. It was decided that ED-E would be left at Freeside so the Followers could poke and prod it to their satisfaction and later send the eyebot to Primm. No problem, said the Courier, they could do without that floating metal basketball for a few days.

_Hah._

Everyone must have gotten so used to ED-E's early warnings that when Boone spotted the small group of men heading their way, they all seemed surprised at how close the 'Gangers were to their location. But it was fine, the Courier said, nothing they could not handle.

It was also the Courier's style to shoot the enemy as they came, then hack the bastards to bits with a machete when they get close enough. Boone was fine with that too.

Boone was not fine however, with how the kid decided to forget about cover and rush after a 'Ganger who got close enough, but completely missed that one Powder Ganger skulking behind some rocks. Cass and Arcade did not notice that 'Ganger either, too busy returning fire from the main group.

Boone was the only one who did. _That fucking idiot,_ he swore.

"Kid!" he yelled in warning as the Powder Ganger hurled something in the Courier's direction. Not waiting for a reply, the sniper took quick aim and shot the lit dynamite in the air; the blast was almost deafening.

It stunned the Courier, who had just dispatched off the 'Ganger in front of him.

Boone fired again, this time taking out the dynamite-wielding 'Ganger with a shot to the head, but unfortunately not before the bastard managed to hurl another lit stick.

This time Boone swore again, because he knew that there weren't any rounds left in his rifle. "Move!" he yelled to the Courier, hoping that the kid would have time to run for it and take cover because he sure as hell didn't have the time to reload to take another shot–

The second blast was equally deafening, but what made Boone turned instantly pale was that pained scream that followed after it.

 _Oh shit oh shit_ –

Arcade yelled something, while Cass swore as she took out the last of their attackers. Boone ignored them both and scrambled like mad to where he last saw the stupid kid, desperately hoping that he was not going to see a mess of mangled limbs and splatters of claret on the ground when the dust settled down.

His panicked heart settled just a little when he heard the faint groans of pain, but resumed its rapid beating when the thought of the Courier being alive, but injured beyond help came across his mind. Would he be forced to make a mercy killing like with–

_Fuck, don't think of that right now. Just find him first._

The dust settled enough for Boone to see a familiar figure trying to drag himself into view; apparently the kid managed to dive and take cover behind some rocks. The rocks and his armour had shielded his body from the blast, but not his legs. The explosion must have sent debris flying;  Boone's eyes widened when he saw that the Courier had a long splinter of wood pierced right through his right calf.

"Oh fuck," Boone said as he knelt down and propped up the Courier so the kid could lean on him. The kid was writhing in obvious agony; his eyes were closed tight, tears of pain running down his cheeks. The sniper grasped the wood splinter and was about to yank it out of the kid's leg when he was stopped.

"Don't," Arcade ordered sternly, "you could end up making it worse."

"We can't leave him like this," Boone almost snarled.

"We won't," Arcade replied. "Cass, get my bag. Boone, keep him still, I need to take a better look," he ordered.

But Boone could not keep the Courier still, for the kid was in too much pain. Arcade had to give him a few shots of Med-X before he would quit thrashing and calm down. "We'll have to take him somewhere else," Arcade said after a quick examination of the injured limb, "I can't do anything here. "

Goodsprings was not too far away and the town had a doctor. Cass told them to leave their packs behind and she would join them later with their things, just get that idiot kid to some decent medical attention already, so Boone headed for the town as fast as he dared with a barely conscious Courier in his arms, Arcade only a few steps behind.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

The old and kindly-looking surgeon at Goodsprings had politely told him to set the Courier down on the bed and wait elsewhere when Boone had brought the kid in. Arcade had stayed behind the folding screens to assist the doctor, and Boone then somehow found himself sitting in one of the chairs in living room.

He must have stayed there staring at nothing for hours before he heard the screens being moved aside, and Doc Mitchell appeared.

"He'll be fine," said the surgeon when Boone looked at him. The old man even chuckled."Splinter missed his nerves and veins. Hell, it missed everything except muscle and tissue. Give him a few days and he'll be back on his feet again. He's got plenty of luck, that boy. First that shot to the head, and now this."

Boone exhaled a breath he did not even realise he had been holding.

"Fool's luck," Arcade grumbled softly, right behind the surgeon.

Doc Mitchell chuckled again. "He'll be fine," he repeated, "and you two can stay here if you want. Both of you don't look too good yourselves, and the young man there would be glad to see your faces when he wakes up."

Boone nodded, then dragged one of the chairs so he could sit near the Courier's bed.

Arcade raised an eyebrow. "Keeping watch?"

"Yeah, so I can be the first guy to punch him in the face when he wakes up, the stupid kid."

The Follower snorted.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

Boone was tired enough to fall asleep in that chair, but he was awakened twice during the night. The first was when Cass arrived, dragging their packs behind her as she stormed inside the house. Once she was satisfied to see that the Courier was all right, she headed for the saloon.

The second time was much later, in the wee hours of the morning. The sniper stretched and massaged his stiff neck. He was about to get up from his seat when he noticed that the old blanket covering the Courier had slipped down; the kid must have tossed in his sleep. The sniper stood and retrieved the blanket on the floor.

"Boone?"

The kid's voice was so soft he almost missed it. He stiffened. Was the kid awake? No, he was still out of it.

And why the hell was the kid calling for him?

Boone decided not to dwell on that and instead covered the Courier with the blanket, careful not to wake him. The sniper hesitated for a moment, then gave in to a long-buried urge and ruffled the sleeping young man's hair. The pale blond strands were soft, just like Carla's–

He stiffened. Only after a long moment did he relax, then sighed.

No, the kid was nothing like her.

And Boone would try his damned best to make sure that the kid would not have to suffer a fate like hers. The sniper owed him that much.

"You'd better stay alive, kid," he said softly.

Then he left the house to find Cass. Hopefully she had not gotten herself _too_ drunk and not to mention into too much trouble, because their fearless leader was out of commission for the moment and wouldn't be able to sweet-talk their way out of a mess.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

Arcade had only pretended to be asleep on the couch, so the Follower had not missed a thing. Once the sniper had left, he allowed himself an amused grin.

He had tried almost everything in the past week or so; dropping large hints to both of them, making sure the two useless idiots were  in each other's company _and_ dropping large hints _then,_ and it turned that all Boone needed to seriously consider things was the good old damsel in distress scenario.

Good, because Arcade was starting to consider slipping Party Time Mentats into Boone's drink, some Jet into the kid, then grab their heads so he could mash their faces together and hope for the best.

But since Boone seemed to be ready, that meant he should just work on the Courier now.

 _This ought to be amusing,_ he thought before he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

He was not sure how, but somehow the Courier knew that there was someone near him when he woke up. Still groggy from the meds in his system, he said the first name he thought of before he could stop himself.

"Boone?"

As soon as the sniper's name left his mouth, he mentally cringed, then swore at himself when he heard an amused chuckle. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know that instead of the sniper, it was Arcade sitting in that chair near his bed.

What the hell happened? Oh yeah, now he remembered. That fucking dynamite blast and that huge splinter of wood in his leg. No wonder he hurt all over.

"How do you feel?" Arcade asked in that manner where he expected an answer.

There was no way the Courier could pretend that he was still asleep now. He reluctantly opened his eyes. "Like shit," he managed to mumble.

"Ah. Like your usual self, I see. That's good."

He was too tired and too out of it to attempt a snappy reply. Instead, he asked, "Where the hell are we?"

"Goodsprings," Arcade answered, "Doc Mitchell's, to be exact. Boone lugged your stupid ass over here." Arcade was now looking at him with undisguised curiosity. "Is there anything between the two of you?" the Follower asked.

The Courier made a rather undignified squawk before he managed to say, "Wh-what the hell are you talking about?" He fought the blush that he knew was threatening to stain his cheeks.

Arcade shrugged. "Boone was watching over you all night. He's hardly done that for anyone else here. And you _did_ call out for him a minute ago."

"You heard me wrong," he mumbled, mortified.

"Sure, sure," Arcade drawled. "Anyway he's gone to get some sleep himself, but not before he left those for you," he continued, indicating the few fresh apples on the bedside table. "Said that with your piss-poor rad resistance, you'd probably want those when you wake up and feel hungry."

Apples? He knew that he must have complained more than once about having to eat so much rad-tainted crap and how the food made him feel even worse if he were injured, but he didn't think anyone had actually paid attention. Apparently the sniper did. Shit.

His confusion must have been apparent, for Arcade said, "Guess Boone's more fond of you that he lets on."

The Courier made a non-committal sort of noise, at the same time trying to ignore the warm feeling that was starting to wash all over him. He didn't remember much of his life after that bullet to the head, but he was pretty damned sure his mama had told him that he would grow up to be a sappy idiot. Guess she was right.

Arcade in the meantime was giving him another dose of Med-X. Done, the Follower said simply, "Go back to sleep, you still need to rest."

He did, but not before he finished one of those apples.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

"You awake, kid?"

He opened his eyes when he heard the familiar voice. "Yeah," he answered.

Boone crossed his arms and grunted. "Feel better?"

He nodded. Then he remembered what Arcade told him earlier, and the apples. "Thanks," he said, then smiled.

"Good," Boone said, and for a moment the Courier thought he saw the corners of Boone's lips turn up just the slightest bit.

Then to his surprise, the sniper punched him in the face. It was just a light blow; Boone must have held back considerably – thank god – but fuck it still _hurt._

"Hey! What was that for?"

"That was for being a fucking dumbass who tried to get himself killed," the sniper replied. A long moment passed before he added, "So don't do anything stupid like that again or I'll shoot you myself." Then the sniper left the room, leaving the Courier dazed, in pain and somewhat confused, not to mention with a bloodied nose.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

"Kid's awake."

That was all Boone said when Arcade bumped into him just as the sniper was leaving the house, but the tiny smile on his lips did not escape the Follower's attention.

Raising one eyebrow, Arcade went inside, expecting at least a goofy grin on the Courier's face. Then all he needed to do was to slip a few Mentats into the kid's water, drop some horribly obvious hints – compared to Arcade's hints, the 'Fuck NCR' graffiti on those billboards were outstanding examples of obscurity – and shove the kid into Boone's arms or something and they would have a sparkly and gay ending together, pun intended of course, and Arcade would no longer have to endure the sight of those two being such hopeless idiots.

"Fuckin' asshole!"

Or not.

Arcade quickened his steps and soon found the Courier sitting on the bed, dabbing at his nose with a corner of his blanket.  "What happened to you?" asked Arcade.

The kid practically drooped. "Boone punched me. He said it was for being a dumbass."

Huh. And he thought Boone was just speaking figuratively.

Arcade sighed. "You _are_ a dumbass," he said, then went to attend to the Courier's bloodied nose, while the kid launched into a series of not-too-flattering mutterings on a certain ex-First Recon. Not that he blamed the kid. Hell, he wanted to wring Boone's neck himself.

So much for his awesome plan.

Maybe, just maybe, the Enclave had secretly implanted some sort of sophisticated bug that sucked his luck out of him. Or maybe he pissed off an angry tribal somewhere who decided to put a curse on him. _Something._ Because Arcade must have done something _really_ spectacular to deserve being saddled with his current companions.

Oh well. There's always Plan B.


	3. Chapter 3

 

"ED-E!" exclaimed the Courier when he spotted the eyebot hovering right outside the Mojave Express building in Primm, then immediately sprinted in the robot's direction.

"What the hell is that stupid kid doing?" Boone grumbled.

Arcade blinked. "He's... _hugging_ the robot. I think."

The young man in question indeed had his arms around the floating robot, and there was a huge grin on his face. ED-E also seemed to be as enthusiastic as the Courier at their reunion, for the robot was emitting a series of chirpy-sounding beeps and clicks as it played a short, merry tune.

Boone mumbled something that sounded suspiciously rude.

"Oh, I don't know," Cass said, snickering, "I think it's kinda cute."

"Well, he's always been a rather affectionate young man," Arcade said, somewhat amused. And while the Follower was initially not too keen with a piece of Enclave technology following them around, ED-E had helped them get out of many tricky situations and he soon learned to tolerate the floating robot. "Besides," he continued, "that robot's been with him longer than any of us. You can't blame him if he's quite attached to it."

Boone wordlessly pointed ahead, then grunted.

Again, Arcade blinked. The Courier still had the eyebot in his arms and was now making cooing noises. "Although, yes," the Follower admitted, "that is starting to look rather disturbing."

"He's going to start kissing the damned robot."

Cass grinned. "Aww, Boone. You jealous?" she said. Strangely enough, she seemed to be immune to Boone's glares. Like now for instance; anyone else would have been running for cover. It had to be all that alcohol.

Boone did not reply. Instead, he walked on ahead, then smacked the Courier lightly on the back of his head, causing the kid to yelp. "Let's go, you dumbass," the sniper grumbled.

Arcade resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Then it suddenly dawned on Arcade; all the relatively gentle punching (only some blood and no broken bits!), the head-smacking, the glaring, awkward hair-ruffling and not to mention the insults directed at the Courier – why did he not realise it sooner?

It was all likely Boone's idea of _flirting_ with the poor kid.

_Oh for the love of–_

The Follower covered his face with one hand and let out a miserable groan.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

 

Arcade was sure that he once read an article on the matter in some pre-war scientific journal when he was younger; that some study or other showed that intelligent people were less likely to settle down with someone. At first he thought nothing of it, but now he was not too sure. Maybe there was something to that article after all.

There's him, practically the genius out of their motley bunch, but he has yet to find that one bachelor to sweep him off his jaded and snarky – err, feet.

And there's the Courier. The kid's pretty intelligent; he could flip through a science magazine and then hack into a computer afterwards. He was also capable of charming old ladies and various NCR personnel; too bad he was devastatingly hopeless when it came to the one person he was genuinely interested in.

Then there's Boone with... well, whatever it was that made Boone tick. Still, the sniper has got people practically wanting to throw themselves at him, including one young Courier. It was just unfortunate that they were afraid of doing so because they were not quite thrilled about the possibility of getting killed for it. After all, who could tell what the sniper was thinking?

Definitely not the Courier, who was currently muttering faint complaints about how he did not appreciate being smacked on the head every fifteen minutes.

Arcade sighed. "What did you do to piss off Boone this time?"

The kid threw his hands up in a gesture of pure frustration. "I don't know! I just told him that I was thinking of heading to Forlorn Hope and see if things have improved since we left all those weeks ago. Then he called me a dumbass again!" 

Forlorn Hope. Oh yes, the NCR camp with that doctor with the brilliant smile and a penchant for calling a somewhat obtuse yet attractive young man his 'little buttercup'.

"No, I certainly do not see why Boone would be angry."

The kid slumped in his chair. "Guess he just hates my guts then."

_No, kid – he likes you. Really, really, likes you. He just has no idea how to say it, so he goes for the macho caveman bullshit which doesn't work on you because you're no masochist._

Arcade decided that he was not quite keen on the prospect of treating repeated head injuries for the duration of his travels with the group. The kid had already survived a shot to the head and he certainly did not need any more trauma to his poor skull. "Look," the Follower said rather patiently, "if Boone really hated you, he wouldn't have bothered. He'd just shoot you."

The Courier fixed him with a wry look, obviously not quite convinced.

"It's probably just his normal way of relating to people. He's military, remember? All that shouting and verbal abuse, you've seen it in those NCR camps."

"Then how come he never smacks _you_ around?"

"I'm taller."

"Oh."

 

\--x-x-x--

He was never any good with this. 

He was not much of a talker; what would he have to say to the kid anyhow? The Courier was smart; the kid pored over almost every book or magazine they came across, muck around with computers and could even speak some of that weird Legion bullshit, while he could read and that was it. 

Talking was just out of the question. The kid would probably prefer to talk to Arcade anyway, since the Follower was an intelligent man and knew a lot about pre-war stuff. 

Him? He was just a grunt who never knew what to say.

Even back then Carla was the one who initiated everything. Their first meeting, first chat, even their first kiss. She had to lead him through all of it, and almost everything else that came after. She even thought his awkwardness was adorable, and said so.

But Carla was gone, and Boone was dead until that day that stupid bright-eyed kid dressed in a vault jumpsuit walked into Novac and helped him find who was responsible for her disappearance. He was then grateful enough to say yes when the kid surprisingly asked him if he wanted to come along, and somehow along the way that sense of gratefulness grew into something more: some kind of respect, and even grudging admiration. And he was not sure how or when exactly it happened, but it did. 

Somehow, the kid made Boone feel human again. Made him remember what it was like to go around without feeling like he had a huge, gaping hole in his chest that no amount of time or Stimpaks would heal. Made him remember how to smile.

But he could not go through all that sappy stuff with the kid, could he? Maybe it was fine with Carla, but the Courier was not Carla – the kid was not even female. Manny never made any weird mushy moves on him, and Boone knew that his old partner had been interested in them being more than just partners or friends. Manny just acted like any regular guy in the NCR. So he tried acting just like the guys in the NCR when he was around the Courier, but maybe the kid just doesn't get it.

He was still mulling over that when he noticed Arcade walking towards him.

"Busy?" Arcade asked.

Boone shook his head. "Not really."

"Good. I need a favour."

He eyed the doctor. Arcade asking him for favours? 

"I want you to teach our fearless leader how to handle a rifle."

"What?"

Arcade shrugged. "He's been wanting to learn for a while now, but he hasn't gotten around to asking you. Probably didn't want to risk another smack to his head – and by the way, could you at least hit him elsewhere if you're annoyed with him? He barely survived that bullet hole in his skull, and repeated head injury can also trigger neurocognitive deficits, and that is _not_ something I specialise in."

"Neuro- _what?"_

"Boone," Arcade said patiently, "if you keep hitting that poor kid's noggin, then he'd _really_ turn into a dumbass."

"Oh."

"So you'll teach him how to shoot?"

Boone nodded. "Sure."

 

\--x-x-x--

 

When Boone told the Courier to get up and grab that spare sniper rifle in his pack, the kid had simply looked puzzled. And when the sniper said, "Gonna teach you how to shoot," the kid's jaw just dropped. Probably because the younger man had not expected that Arcade would actually manage to convince Boone to teach him or something.

Boone led the kid some distance away from camp to a suitable spot when something occurred to him; while the sniper had seen the kid repair a few rifles, he had yet to see the kid actually shoot with them. So after he told the Courier to lie down on his stomach, he asked the kid about it.

"Never tried using them much. Sunny Smiles tried to teach me a little," the younger man answered, "but I just couldn't get the hang of it. Doc Mitchell gave me a laser pistol and I liked that better since I could actually run and shoot with it, and believe me I had to do a lot of running because I kept bumping into those damned Powder–"

"God, kid," Boone growled, "don't you ever stop to breathe or something?"

The kid immediately clammed up and – there was no other way Boone could put it – he _deflated._ Flatter than a squashed radroach on the ground, with barely any life in him. 

Pathetic. But at least now the kid was almost lined up in a good prone firing position. Without really thinking, Boone reached out to correct the position of his legs, then his shoulders. Even with the heavy leather jacket the kid was wearing, Boone could tell the kid had the build of an athlete; a runner – lean and muscular. Not surprising really, since he was – is? – a Mojave Express courier and those poor bastards had to get to places quick.

He found himself wondering what the rest of the Courier looked like underneath all that clothing.

"Uh... Boone?"

Shit. How long had he been holding the kid's shoulders? Boone muttered something about adjusting the kid's position a little bit more and hoped the younger man bought it.

It was a little strange at first, but Boone had taught a few young sniper hopefuls when he was still in the NCR and to his own surprise, he found himself slipping back into that old routine. Helped the kid find a suitable position (back straight, legs relaxed, arms and elbows just so, with butt of rifle firmly into the shoulder), told him about breath control and when to aim and fire. Just like those boys he trained, the Courier was also nervous at first, but as they progressed he relaxed and started to get into it.

"Can I borrow that beret of yours? Might make me shoot better."

Boone was about to automatically smack the kid on the back of his head when the sniper remembered that Arcade had said something about repeated head injuries. Instead, he growled, "Don't be a dumbass."

After some successful practice shots at a rock a few hundred yards away, he decided that the kid was ready for a moving target. He plopped himself down next to and slightly behind the Courier, then scanned the surroundings with his scope. "Mole rats up ahead. You up for it?"

"Sure."

Boone nodded, ready to observe the kid's shot and to help the kid readjust his aim if he missed. The kid _did_ miss the first time, but Boone told him how to correct his aim and to take the wind into account, and he managed to score a clean shot in his second. With him acting as spotter, the kid killed a few more unfortunate mole rats before Boone realised that something was... different.

Snipers generally have keen senses to begin with, and when they start to look through their scopes, sometimes not only their sight, but their sense of hearing, smell, touch – all of that went into overdrive; Boone was no exception.

Fuck, the kid smelled... _good._ The wind blowing his scent in Boone's direction was not helping things, and neither was how the kid was so close to him that he could almost feel the younger man's warmth–

Shit. He was getting more than just a little turned on. 

"That's enough for today," he said. He sat up and was about to give the Courier a pat on the shoulder just like with the NCR boys he had trained, but for some reason he found himself ruffling the kid's hair instead. "Not bad," he added before he stood up.

"Uh, I'm gonna stay here and practice just a bit more," the Courier replied.

"Suit yourself." The sniper shrugged and started to walked away.

"Boone!"

He looked behind him. "What?" he said. _Nice ass,_ he thought.

"Thanks," the kid said, then flashed a brilliant smile at him.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

The Courier breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeah, just shoot a few more stupid mole rats and maybe a couple of radroaches. Or at least pretend to anyway. 

Because Boone would have shot him if he had gotten up and the sniper saw that tell-tale bulge in his pants.

Why did Boone suddenly decide to teach him how to shoot a rifle anyway? Not that he was complaining – no, far from it. He was glad that he got to spend about an hour just with the sniper, although it certainly took more than a little self-control to concentrate on what Boone was teaching him instead of entertaining the little and not-so-little dirty thoughts in his head.

Once he had calmed down enough some time later, he headed back to camp, still feeling a little puzzled over the whole thing. Arcade must have noticed the look in his face, for the Follower stopped to ask him what was wrong. 

"Maybe it's just his way of making up to you for that punch to the face. I certainly can't imagine that man actually saying 'sorry'. Can you?" the Follower said when he told the man what happened earlier, leaving out certain embarrassing physical reactions.

The Courier shook his head. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right. It certainly makes more sense than – oh, I don't know – him being interested in you and wanting to get to know you or something."

He blinked. "What?"

But Arcade had already walked away, and he was left standing there feeling more puzzled than ever.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Boone was bored.

The Courier had gone off with Cass and ED-E to take care of some business with the Garrets, leaving the rest of them at the Lucky 38 presidential suite. Like almost anyone else in New Vegas, Boone had wondered what the Lucky 38 looked like within and was quite surprised that the mysterious Mr. House allowed them inside. The place was a bit nicer than the other establishments on the Strip, and would have been better without those annoying Securitrons around – especially that Victor. Boone swore that he had to hear that chirpy 'High-roller suite!' one more time, he would shoot that damned cowboy-wannabe robot.

(Well, he would have, if the Courier hadn't told him doing that would be pointless since another Securitron would just take Victor's place, with Victor's annoyingly cheerful personality uploaded. No point in wasting ammo.)

After he was done with cleaning his rifle and checking the rest of his gear, he had nothing else to do. He considered going out just to walk around, but decided against it; the Strip reminded him too much of Carla. Getting drunk on the almost endless supply of alcohol available was another option, but there was no telling when the Courier would return and who knew what stupid mess the kid would have gotten into – which of course would likely require his help to sort out. Cass certainly had no problems with her aim even when drunk, but Boone was not blessed with that ability.

Maybe he should go find Arcade. The Courier was always talking to the Follower; maybe Boone should find out what the kid was always yammering about to the other man.

Better still, maybe Arcade knew how to reprogram that Securitron to shut up.

Usually the other man could be found reading a medical journal or one of those nice-looking pre-war books, but this evening Arcade seemed content with a copy of _Meeting People._ Boone was not much of a reader except for the occasional issue of _Guns and Bullets_ and thus never bothered with what other people read, but to see the Follower reading something so unlike him just prompted a comment.

"You actually read that crap?"

Arcade replied, "First of all, this isn't mine. I borrowed it from our fearless leader. Second, some light reading material is a pleasant change once in a while." He looked up from the magazine to adjust his glasses before he continued, "Third, I'll have you know that from a purely psychological viewpoint, some of the articles in here are quite fascinating. Fourth, you can tell a lot about someone just from his preferred reading material, and I am merely trying to figure out what makes that young man tick."

Boone snorted.

Arcade rolled his eyes. "Fine, I just like to mock the people who write into these advice columns." He tossed the magazine at the sniper, who caught it easily. "Here, give it a try."

_That kid reads this shit?_

Boone flipped through the magazine, stopping at a few pages that must have gotten a lot of reading, judging from the dog-eared corners and underlined paragraphs. "Huh. 'Dealing With Difficult People'. 'Is He Quiet or Shy?' Who believes in all this stuff anyway?"

Arcade shrugged. "The kid, of course. Why do you think he's so... nice?"

Nice? Of course he was nice. Too nice for his damned and dumbass good, Boone thought. Only a nice and naïve _idiot_ would ask a guy who just shot someone's head off with a sniper rifle if he would like to come along on a journey around the rad-plagued desert.

"He looks up to you, you know."

He almost flinched at Arcade's remark.

"Don't know why, but he does. He also worries about you."

He gave Arcade a questioning look.

Arcade smiled, just a little. "That's just the way he is, I guess. Frankly, I think it's a rather nice change to have people who care for you, instead of people who are trying their damned best to kill you."

Boone merely grunted, because he would rather enjoy that rare, warm and pleasant feeling in his chest than to think of a half-decent reply.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

The Courier returned a few hours later, strangely silent. He was also a little pale, more than just a bit dishevelled and oddly enough, practically reeked of motor oil.

Cass however, was giggling. ED-E let out an electronic chirp.

Boone stared at the young man. "What the hell happened to you?"

The Courier let out a groan. Cass on the other hand, looked at him and then burst into hysterical laughter.

Arcade said, "If this is going to be another one of your insane medical emergencies–"

"Nothing happened," mumbled the kid as he stared at the carpet. This only prompted another round of hysterical giggles from Cass.

Arcade crossed his arms and tried again, this time with a stern glare. "What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" the young man replied, blushing furiously.

"James Garret wanted us to find a robot for the Atomic Wrangler," Cass explained in between snickering, "and not just any robot – he wanted us to find a–" Her last few words were incomprehensible due to another fit of manic giggling.

Arcade asked, "A what?"

"Shut up, Cass!" the Courier yelled.

"A sexbot!" she managed to gasp.

"So what does a sexbot have to do with – oh. _Oh."_ It was then pretty much obvious that the Follower was trying very hard not to laugh. It was also obvious that he was not doing a very good job at it.

Boone stared at Arcade, then back at the Courier, whom by now was completely scarlet. "Holy shit," he managed to say after a long moment of silence. Then he took a step back.

"You assholes! What the hell do you think I am, some – some sick robot fetishist?" the Courier raged.

Arcade coughed. "Trust me, I'm not sure what to think of you right now."

Cass had grabbed a bottle of whiskey and gulped down a few mouthfuls, which served to calm her giggling fit. "You see," she said, "our boy here found one of them Protectrons in this old factory in Freeside and thought that he could reprogram it into a sexbot. So he starts punching keys in a terminal, then the robot steps out when he's done and says it's good to go." She grinned, while the Courier looked torn between the prospects of killing her, or killing himself. "Somehow that robot also thought that it should give its programmer a demonstration."

"Hey! I told it to stop! It just wouldn't listen!" the kid protested. "And why the hell were you just standing there?"

"I wasn't sure if that was a _real_ 'Stop!' you were shouting," Cass replied, waggling an eyebrow.

"So, did it...." Boone was not quite sure how to phrase his question, but the kid understood what he meant.

"Hell no!" the younger man yelled. "I shut it down!"

"But not before it ripped his clothes off!"

Arcade gave up on trying to curb his laughter at that point and so did Cass, ignoring all the threats the Courier shouted at them. The younger man was in the middle of shouting something about reprogramming ED-E to shoot them where it really hurt when he suddenly stopped, turned around and just looked at Boone.

The sniper wondered for a moment why the kid was staring at him with an expression that was close to amazement before he realised what was the reason.

"Holy shit, Boone," the kid said in an awed voice, "that's the first time I heard you laugh."

Then he broke into the most brilliant smile Boone had ever seen, and the sniper could not help but grin in return.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

"Sniping lessons," Arcade muttered under his breath, "whatever happened to dinner and drinks?"

He shook his head as he watched Boone and the Courier. The two men were some distance away from camp; the sniper was crouched next to the younger man, who was in turn lying on his stomach and holding a rifle. It was almost a routine by now; every few days or so Boone would teach the Courier a few things on the fine art of blowing someone's head off with a sniper rifle. It was also obvious that both of them were starting to enjoy each other's company, judging from their conversations. If you could call them conversations anyway; Arcade noted that the Courier still did most of the talking. Boone just shrugged and spoke once in a while, but most importantly, he no longer resorted to head-smacking or name-calling.

"Well, at least it's an improvement over those Neanderthal courting attempts," Arcade muttered again. Then he tried to picture Boone in formal clothes and taking the Courier out to dinner, and nearly choked on his laughter.

The Courier was now more relaxed whenever he was in Boone's company, but he still hesitated over things. Arcade surmised that the kid was worried that he might say or do something that would piss off Boone and earn him another hit to the head. Or worse; Boone would clam up and go back to that sniper who hardly spoke. 

_Hmm, so who should make the first move then?_

Arcade pondered on the matter a little bit more before he decided, then absently wondered if he was turning into a mental masochist. The Follower let out an amused chuckled before he focused his attention back on his two companions.

Only someone with huge doses of self-control _and_ military discipline would be able to focus on the essentials of sniping and spotting, rather than doing something about that hot piece of ass just lying within reach. Or that someone could be Boone, who could never start certain things on his own. Still, a certain copy of _Meeting People_ had mysteriously disappeared, so Arcade supposed _someone_ was hopefully doing some extra reading in his spare time.

The Courier let out a shout of excitement; he must have scored a spectacular kill, judging from Boone's look of approval. Arcade noted that Boone's gaze seemed to focus not only on the younger man's face, but on other equally appealing areas afterwards. Not that he blamed the sniper; the kid _did_ have a nice ass.

It was almost a pity the Courier was not Arcade's type; he was rather smart, but too talkative. (Also, he was a clueless idiot.) The Follower liked quiet intellectual men, which unfortunately were a rare breed these days – but still, there was no harm in looking, right? Actual physical contact however, was another story. Arcade knew that if he attempted to grope that ass, even if he tried to justify it on medical-related reasons, Boone would shoot him. Then ED-E would. And then quite likely at least two whole NCR garrisons, as a number of those military boys and girls have all gotten fond of the do-gooder Courier for some reason. Arcade need not worry about his Enclave connections at that point.

He bet that Cass would just laugh though.

No, Arcade's strong sense of self-preservation would see that he would do no such thing. Besides, attempting to do something about the two idiots was a far more fulfilling mental exercise, the Follower decided as he continued observing them.

Also, he sure as hell was not going to let those idiots beat him at this game, even if they did not know they were in it in the first place.

 

\---x-x-x--

 

"Let's call it a day," Boone said as he got up, and then dusted his knees.

"Thanks," the Courier said, following suit. Then he grinned at Boone and asked, "Think I'll be a better sniper than you?"

Boone snorted.

"Never mind, forget I asked," the kid said, raising his hands in surrender. "But you're right, we should be getting back. I need to drop off those extra medical supplies at Old Mormon Fort."

"Why?"

"Huh?" Thankfully the younger man figured out what Boone meant, for he continued, "Oh. It's the right thing to do, I guess. Besides, I kind of like helping people out. It makes me feel good about myself."

"Makes you feel good?"

"Yeah." The younger man turned solemn, and Boone could not help staring at that alien expression on his usually cheerful face. "I don't remember much of my life after getting this," he said, rubbing the scar underneath his hair. "Hell, I barely remember my name – and even then I'm not sure that it's _really_ my name. Doc Mitchell said that maybe my memories would return, but I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I mean, what if I'm actually some lunatic, or a criminal? Or even an asshole like Benny. Or worse.  So I guess I just want to start my life over or something."

Starting over? Boone could see the appeal in that. He must have said that out loud, for the Courier went on.

"Sounds good, doesn't it? I keep telling myself that too. But I just can't help wondering sometimes."

"About what?"

The Courier's expression turned wistful. "Just some things about myself. Where I'm from. What I was like. Who knows, maybe I have a family, maybe even a wife or kid – _oh shit._ " He winced, then started to apologise, "God, I'm sorry Boone, I didn't mean–"

"No, it's all right," Boone said.

Strangely enough, it was. That ache in his chest was still there, but it did not hurt as much as it did before.

"Anyway," the kid mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets, "that's why. Why I now run around the Mojave running errands and stuff. Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Yeah." There was a long pause before Boone said, "I seriously doubt you have a wife and kids though."

"Huh?"

"Who the hell would want a no-good, dumbass like you for a man?"

"Shut up."

 

\--x-x-x--

 

It did not take long for Arcade – twenty-two minutes, to be exact – to figure out that something was wrong. Sure, the Courier and Boone were still talking when they returned, but Boone did not seem to be paying full attention to the younger man's words.

(Less grunting in acknowledgement, check. More aggressive-looking frown than usual, check. Not looking at the Courier's ass much... check?)

"What did he say to earn your wrath this time?" he asked Boone much later.

Boone shrugged. "Nothing."

Arcade raised an eyebrow. "Really, now. What were you talking about? Humour me, I would like to be prepared to treat a concussion just in case there's going to be one hell of a head-smacking later."

"The kid was just yammering about not being able to remember things. Wondering if he was somebody, or had a wife and kids, that sort of thing."

_Wife and kids? Oh for pity's sake–_

Arcade could almost understand why Boone made all those taps to the younger man's head. He felt like clouting a few good ones on the Courier's skull himself. Alas, he had to follow his own advice on avoiding repeated head injuries and instead, salvage the situation.

Wife and kids, indeed. No wonder the sniper's behaviour was slightly different. The man was obviously having second thoughts about the Courier; or rather, his sexual preferences.

Arcade snorted, earning a glance from Boone. "Wife? Kids? Not in this lifetime, judging from the way that young man looks at some of those boys in Gomorrah – and he sure as hell doesn't pay attention to the girls. Trust me on this one," the Follower said, chuckling in feigned amusement, at the same time watching Boone for the tiniest change in the man's expression.

The sniper’s face remained indifferent, but his posture relaxed ever so slightly.

Good. Time to turn up the jealousy factor.

"And the way he acts around that NCR doctor – what's his name, ah, yes – Dr. Richards," Arcade continued, then mentally smirked at how Boone's left eyebrow twitched, "he's definitely not someone who ends up with a wife or kids." And just because it was so amusing to see a jealous Boone, he added, "The good doctor sure knows how to flatter someone. I'm sure not many people can resist his charm."

"Not even you?"

Arcade said in a lofty tone, "I do not have a liking for men in uniform, unlike some people."

_That Courier for instance. Maybe he's got a thing for military berets._

"Kid sure doesn't make sense," Boone muttered, and Arcade felt a strong sense of satisfaction at how he had rescued the entire situation from falling apart and he was not doomed to see his two companions being such hopeless idiots for the rest of their travels.

"Boone, do you _seriously_ expect someone who dragged us off to kill all those damned Deathclaws so he can have one ridiculous omelet to make much sense? You said it yourself, he's a dumbass."

"Good point."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

"Arcade?"

The Follower instantly knew that tone. It was the tone the Courier used when he was unsure of something and needed to ask Arcade for the man's opinion. While he did not mind the Courier's questions much and actually welcomed the conversation most of the time, at the moment however, he wished the younger man had picked a better time.

"Mmmph?" he managed to mumble around his mouthful of brahmin steak.

Under normal circumstances, the Courier would have likely apologised for interrupting his meal and come back later, but the fact that the young man simply sat down across the table indicated that the issue at hand must have been important.

A medical emergency? Legion on the move? ED-E malfunctioning? Cass gambling all their caps at the blackjack table? Or perhaps something about Mr. House?

"It's about Boone."

Or that.

"He's acting... well, not like himself lately."

"Really?" Arcade put his knife and fork down. "I didn't notice anything different. He still hardly speaks, he spends far too much time perched on a rock with that rifle of his, he never takes that damned beret off, but more importantly, he's not shooting at me – or any of us for that matter. So what are these changes you've noticed?"

"He's... well, he's...." The Courier was obviously struggling to find the appropriate term. A few long moments passed before he settled on one. "Nicer."

Arcade raised an eyebrow. "You're concerned about how _nice_ he's acting? Are you sure someone didn't slip you some Jet?"

The Courier sighed. "Look, I know I sound crazy," he said, conveniently ignoring Arcade's nod, "and I know you said last time that anything like that should be treated as a positive sign that Boone's no longer as emotionally unstable as before, but...."

"But?"

"Some of the things he says. They're just... fucking _weird."_ The younger man shook his head and made a face. "Like he's quoting them from somewhere."

The effort it took for Arcade to stop himself from swearing out loud and smacking his palm against his face could only be described as superhuman. 

_Dammit Boone, that's a magazine, not a fucking **script** –_

"Half the time he'll be talking... well, like he always does, meaning not very much – and even then it's mostly about kicking Legion ass all over the Mojave. The other half, he'll be saying things like, 'Nice shirt you've got on, where did you get it?' or some shit that makes him sound either deranged or sleazy."

Arcade decided the effort it took for him not to laugh transcended superhuman ability, and the only way he had managed to do so was because he was such a freaking genius in the first place. Not to mention the fact that he _was_ turning into a mental masochist.

Apparently _someone_ decided to ignore the helpfully marked articles in that copy of _Meeting People_ and went for the other, less suitable pieces on – oh for fuck’s sake, there was something about appropriate things to say at first dates in that particular issue, wasn't there? Nevertheless, the man's sheer bloody-mindedness was somewhat admirable, Arcade had to admit.

And bless the Courier for being so patient, so tolerant.

"That's odd," Arcade said, "he's never said anything like that to me. Or the others for that matter, I'm sure." He decided then it was safe for him to make the very un-Arcade-like expression of a silent guffaw, as the Courier would not be able to see it; the other man had slumped in an exasperated gesture, his forehead on the table with his hands placed on the back of his neck.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" the younger man groaned. "He's starting to creep me out."

"I told you, he's more fond of you than you think. He's just... not used to expressing himself." He smiled. "I guess he's trying to do that – very hard, and in somewhat hilarious and perhaps even disturbing ways – but he is _trying._ And I'm sure he's doing all this while in relative possession of his mental faculties, since I have all the chems accounted for."

"I suppose you're right," the Courier mumbled.

"Of course I'm right." Arcade then tapped sharply on the younger man's head with a finger. "Now before I start back on my steak, is there anything else you want to ask, or tell me?" he said when the Courier looked up. "About Boone?" he added meaningfully, and then noted the tiny flinch and the slightly upturned corners of the other man's lips.

The Courier fell silent for a long moment. "Maybe later," he said softly. "Thanks."

Arcade shrugged. "I got nothing better to do." 

\--x-x-x--

Boone was about to say the hell with the Lucky 38 and its annoying cowboy Securitrons, he should just go the fuck out and walk around the Strip or get drunk or even use some Fiends as target practice when Arcade literally bumped into him in the hallway, the hassled-looking Follower dropping some of the things he carried in his arms with a muffled oath.

"What's gotten you so worked up?"

"Timing. The need for impeccable timing," Arcade answered in that annoyingly superior know-it-all way as he knelt down to gather the medical supplies on the carpet.

"The hell are you talkin' about?" Boone asked, handing Arcade several Stimpaks.

"Some of the Kings got into some trouble a while ago. All the casualties were taken to the Followers. The Followers don't have enough hands to deal with them, so Julie Farkas sent word that she needed all the medical assistance she could get. Owed her a few favours, so tell the Courier I've gone to Old Mormon Fort, all right?"

Boone had barely grunted in acknowledgement when Arcade sped for the elevator.

The sniper then noticed that in his rush to collect those supplies and leave, Arcade had left his doctor's bag behind. "Idiot," Boone muttered as he picked the bag up from the floor and then hit the elevator call button. Hopefully the Follower had not left yet by the time he got downstairs, because Boone was not feeling charitable enough to go all the way to the 'Fort just to hand over that doctor's bag.

Victor was probably away on some errand for Mr. House, because there was no chirpy 'Casino floor!' when the elevator's doors opened and Boone stepped outside. Arcade was talking with the Courier not too far away. Whatever their conversation was about, it must be really important for the Follower to delay his departure, and for the Courier to be so absorbed in it and not notice Boone's arrival. The sniper was about to go and hand over the bag to Arcade when his keen hearing caught something that grabbed his interest.

"–so you should tell him," Arcade said.

"Probably not. I don't think it's a good idea. You said it yourself, the military can be irrational. God knows how he'd react."

"I wouldn't say that. Besides, like I said, he's rather fond of you. Hell, compared to the rest of us, he gives you special treatment."

Military? Special treatment? Who the hell were they talking about?

"Yeah, treats me like a dumbass kid brother," the Courier grumbled.

"No. I've also seen how he looks at you. Or rather, at that ass of yours."

Shit, they could not be talking about that Richards from Forlorn Hope, could they? Boone vowed that the next time they were there, NCR doctor or no, he was going to shoot that man – and he knew how to do it without the Courier finding out. Last thing Richards would never see, and all that.

"Really? I wasn't sure if he – you know, swings that way."

_Of course he does, you dumbass. He calls you his cute little goddamned buttercup, for crying out loud._

Arcade rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure. Trust me. I, of all people, would know."

The Courier sighed. "You're right. I still don't think I should tell him though. We're getting along fine as it is – even with some of his weird behaviour – and I don't want to risk losing that. I _can't_. Maybe later. A whole _lot_ later, once this whole mess with House, NCR and the Legion is over. "

The sniper decided that there was no point listening to the conversation any longer and was about to head over to the other two men when the next thing the Courier said stopped him in his tracks.

"And I still believe that Boone won't think much of some dumbass kid like me having feelings for him–"

Boone cleared his throat.

Arcade looked up, and then blinked at him. The Courier did not move, but he paled considerably.

"So," the sniper said, "what was that about having feelings for me?" 

\--x-x-x--

The Courier could not recall much of his life after that bullet to his head, but he was pretty much sure that while he had been in several tough situations before, nothing came close to his current predicament.

He had been surprised when Arcade stopped him before going out, saying that they needed to have a long talk, and was even more surprised when the Follower confronted him about, of all things, his attraction to Boone. Sure, there was the usual somewhat condescending and sarcastic spiel from Arcade before he actually got to the point, a spiel which the Courier listened to anyway because he knew his mama raised him to be polite and not to mention that it was not really a good idea to annoy the guy who stitches you up.

And of course, Arcade _was_ taller.

"Why don't you just tell Boone?" Arcade had asked then, and when the Courier had tried to talk his way out of it with a clueless look coupled with a few doses of I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about, the Follower had just rolled his eyes and stabbed a finger in the Courier's direction.

"I've seen how you look at him," the older man had said. And _of course_ Arcade would have noticed; the Follower probably has loads of experience in the matter, despite his claims of never having found anyone to sweep him off his feet.

The Courier had cringed a little at that. But if Arcade had noticed, that probably meant that–

"Boone doesn't know. Which is why you should tell him."

Then he had started to tell Arcade why he should _not,_ beginning with how the man had lost his wife and unborn child for pity's sake, and since he had been married he sure as hell was not interested in men and why the _fuck_ did Arcade have to bring this up now–

"You'd be surprised," Arcade had interrupted, "he doesn't show it, but he's more than fond of you."

Despite how Arcade's words offered hope – a faint hope, but hope nonetheless – he went on to list down the reasons why he should just keep his mouth shut.

Then of course, Boone just had to show up.

At first the Courier prayed that the sniper had not been listening to their conversation, but when the man spoke it was obvious that he had, and for quite some time too. By then half of the Courier's brain was screaming, _damn you Arcade, I'm going to fucking shoot you and then sell you to the Legion and then get them to crucify you so I can fucking shoot you again,_ while the other half was whimpering, _oh god, Boone's going to kill me before I could do any of that._

"Boone," he began, feeling more than rather nervous with how the sniper was just staring at him with that expressionless face, "I can explain–"

"Sure." Boone placed the bag he carried on the floor, and then crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

"Well, I – uh...." The Courier looked around for assistance from Arcade – he was even considering euthanasia at that point – but the Follower must have taken advantage of Boone's arrival to slip away.

Bastard.

"Speechless," the sniper noted. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Then before the Courier could say anything else, Boone grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him to the elevator. The sniper was stronger and he moved at a pace fast enough to prevent the younger man from getting a firm footing and trying to break away from his grip, and so the Courier found himself being slammed against the wall once they were inside, Boone's hands on his shoulders.

"Boone, what the–"

"Shut up," the sniper growled. "That stuff you said to Arcade," he continued, "did you mean all that?"

The Courier closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no way he could talk his way out of this. Silently cursing Arcade, then Boone, and then himself with every single expletive he could think of, he then opened his eyes and stared at the sniper.

"Yeah."

Then when he felt the grip on his shoulders loosen, he went ahead and did the first thing he could think of.

He punched Boone right in the face.

\--x-x-x--

When Boone first made it into First Recon, all the NCOs had hammered into him that he should always keep himself in good health, for good health meant better muscular control and greater reflexes. While there was a period when he had neglected to take care of himself after Carla died, choosing to drown his sorrows in alcohol, that was quite some time ago. Now, he was physically fit and his reflexes had not suffered one bit.

He had noticed the slight narrowing of the Courier's eyes in time, and managed to dodge enough so that the Courier's punch was only a glancing blow to his left cheek, instead of the painful haymaker it was meant to be.

"What the fuck–" he blurted, then before the Courier could break free from his hold, he shoved the kid out of the open elevator doors and then up against the wall of the suite. The younger man winced at the rough gesture and tried to push the sniper away, but it was no use; he was not going anywhere unless Boone let him.

Boone snarled, "What was that for?"

"What the hell do _you_ think? I'm trying to get away from you–"

"Look, kid–"

"–because you were going to kill me and I'm really, _really_ sorry about all this, but even though I think you're really good-looking – I guess I just have a thing for military men, okay? – I really, really value my life even _more,_ especially after that bullet to my head and–"

"Don't you _ever_ stop to breathe?" yelled Boone, effectively silencing the younger man. The sniper resisted the immense urge to smack the Courier's head against the wall and instead took a slow, deep breath as he stared at the kid.

The Courier's face was flushed, his mouth slightly open, panting. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, making them look luminous.

He looked shit-scared.

He also looked really desirable, Boone thought.

"Wasn't going to kill you," the sniper said, his voice slightly gruff to his own ears.

"You weren't?"

"No," Boone replied, "was going to do this." Then Boone grasped the back of the Courier's neck and pulled him close, just close enough for their lips to be only a few inches away, hoping that the Courier would take the hint because he sure as fuck did not know what to say at the moment. It was up to the Courier now.

Boone heard his own breath falter, and it seemed to be one long, agonising moment where he thought that maybe he had somehow gotten everything wrong and the kid had his eyes on that goddamned little buttercup-calling Richards after all, before Boone heard the younger man sighing softly and then pressed his lips against Boone's. The kiss may have been shy at first, but not for long; it quickly turned heavy and passionate and Boone could not help thinking that maybe the kid's habit of avoiding ancient consumables and eating mostly fresh food had something to it after all, since–

"You taste so good," Boone whispered when they had to stop for air. So good, in fact, that Boone did not allow the kid to reply and instead kissed him again when he opened his mouth to do so. The Courier's soft moans only made Boone want even more, so much more of him, and the sniper already had one hand under the kid's shirt, the other cupping the kid's ass when he realised that they had uninvited company.

"Kid," he growled, "do something about that, will ya?" He then jerked a thumb in the direction of the beeping and floating offender.

"ED-E, new command protocol," the Courier ordered in between short gasps of breath, "just go away for the next few hours, okay? Really, I'm fine. Shoo." The eyebot beeped a few times – Boone swore it sounded rather offended – and then bobbed out of view. "Better?" the kid asked once it had left.

Boone grunted. "Few hours?"

The kid cringed slightly at Boone's reply. "Too optimistic, huh," he muttered softly as he looked at the carpet.

"Nope," Boone said, then gently lifted the Courier's chin and then kissed his pouty lower lip.

The kid blinked, surprised. "Huh?"

"Too short." He smirked, then said softly into the kid's ear, "We got all night."

The Courier was still beaming when Boone pushed him down on the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

It should not be too different, Boone reasoned, making love to another man. At any rate, whether man or woman, sex would be much more comfortable in bed, with all clothing removed, so he worked on that first. And after that? He knew what _he_ liked, so it was just a matter of trying out what he liked on the Courier, and see if that worked. Judging from the enthusiastic responses as he kissed, licked and touched, it worked pretty damned _fine._

"You done this before?" he asked. He probably should have asked the question earlier – such as _before_ they had gotten all their clothes off and he had the kid pinned under him –  but what the hell.

The kid turned even redder, something Boone thought was impossible. "Yes! No! I mean... I'm not sure."

Boone stared at him. "You're not sure."

"I don't remember, okay?" he said defensively.

"How can you not–" Boone began, and then stopped himself. The kid barely remembered his name, so perhaps it was possible for him to even forget a detail this important as well. "Never mind," the sniper said, then resumed kissing the Courier's lips, and then moved on to his neck and collarbone.

He had secretly been hoping that the Courier knew something about fucking a guy, since he barely had any ideas how the whole thing worked. But perhaps this was turning out in his favour; he could take the lead instead because he sure as hell was not going to let the dumbass top _him._ He thought he was doing fine too, until he spread the Courier's legs when suddenly the kid froze and grasped his shoulders firmly.

"W-wait," the kid said, his voice wavering slightly in obvious panic, "I-I don't think this is gonna work."

Boone wanted to snap, _what the hell do you mean it ain't gonna work, where else am I going to shove my dick in, you moron,_ because damn he wanted the Courier _now_ , but somehow he managed a much more appropriately concerned response. "Huh?" he grunted.

"It's not that I don't want this – I really, really do, I've wanted this ever since I saw you in that stupid dinosaur," the kid babbled as he stared at the sniper, "but I don't think this is gonna work for me because I'm pretty much sure it's my first time with a guy–"

Oh _now_ he's sure, the dumbass.

"–and holy shit, you're so big – I meant that as a compliment, by the way – but I'm sure that's gonna hurt on my end and did I mention that you're _big?"_

How the hell did he manage to say all that in one breath?

Boone decided to kiss the younger man to stop him from babbling any further. He would have bonked the kid's head to shut him up, but that was not really appropriate bedroom behaviour.  Besides, the kid did compliment him on his size. Flattery, Boone decided, would get the kid _somewhere._

The Courier had no objections, returning the Boone's kiss with equal enthusiasm as he slipped his arms around the sniper's neck to pull them closer. "Just relax, okay?" Boone said when their lips parted. "I know what I'm doing," he said.

Like hell he did. He resumed kissing the younger man, telling himself that he was just trying to make the kid relax, but in reality he was just stalling. His brain was trying to remember if Manny – oh hell, _anybody_ – had ever said anything about the subject. Shit, there had to be _some_ alcohol-fuelled babbling about it on one of their leaves at the Strip and he knew that his old partner paid more than a few visits to the Gomorrah every time. Wait, yeah, there was something about Manny singing drunken praises about some new hot young stud who was so tight, he had actually needed some preparation–

Boone jerked away in mid-kiss, leaving a confused Courier to blurt out, "Huh-whaa? W-what did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Just stay there and keep looking like the cute dumbass you are, all right?" The sniper looked around, hoping that there was something he could use. His gaze settled on the few things on the nightstand; some stray caps, a Stimpak (why the hell was there a Stimpak on the nightstand?), a box of Gum Drops and a small bottle of clear liquid. He grabbed the bottle, uncapped it and sniffed its contents. It seemed harmless, so he poured some of the liquid on his fingers. Cool, with a slightly oily texture; good enough. While he had never fucked a guy before, he knew male physiology; men sure as hell did not lubricate.

"What're you doing?" the kid asked.

"You'll see," Boone answered, then very gently, slipped one wet finger inside the kid. The sniper heard the younger man gasp and clench instinctively – shit, all that warmth and tightness would feel good around him later – but relaxed some moments later, as Boone rubbed soothing circles on the kid's thigh with his free hand. Boone inserted another finger, but it was probably too early for it; the kid winced and hissed softly in pain. He continued to rub circles on the Courier's thigh and kissed the younger man's left knee in apology, but did not cease his probing with his fingers. Boone was fascinated to see the kid's reactions; the needy faces he was making, the little moans and groans of pleasure. He must have brushed against something really good, for the kid's eyes widened and then his body shuddered so deliciously it made Boone want to take him right then.

"God, Boone–"

The sniper tried to find whatever it was that caused that particular reaction, and was rewarded by the kid moaning his name. Boone debated briefly if he should add another finger – the kid did say he was big, after all – and decided that he should after another one of those lovely moans.

"Boone, please–"

Shit, did he want another finger in him? Or did he want Boone to stop?

"Just fuck me already, dammit!"

The sniper was more than too happy to oblige. He pulled his fingers out and with one smooth gesture, pushed himself into his lover, who let out a strangled noise and clung to him, breathing harshly. Boone forced himself to stay still once he was fully inside, partly because he thought the kid needed some time to adjust, and partly because he was not too sure if he was doing this right.

He was probably doing fine, for the kid pulled him down for a brief kiss. "Move," the kid growled.

So Boone did, finding a suitable pace after a few thrusts, a pace that was mutually enjoyed, judging from the way his lover's hips rocked in time with his own. Boone turned his attention to the Courier's neck and shoulders, kissing and nipping lightly against the sun-kissed skin. Soon he started to move faster and harder, and the steady thumps of the bed's headboard hitting against the wall grew louder as the Courier gasped something about hitting whatever that was that made him feel so good, then moments later the kid cried out as he came, spilling warmth between them and the warmth around Boone tightened, and the sniper followed suit after a few more thrusts.

Boone collapsed on the Courier, who let out a strangled, "Oof." He rolled over, pulling the kid with him. Last thing he needed was to crush his new lover. The Courier mumbled something, kissed Boone lightly on the cheek and then tucked his head under the sniper's chin.

"You okay?" Boone asked after a long moment of comfortable silence, absently running his hand through the Courier's soft dishevelled hair, at the same time enjoying the sensation of the younger man's chest rising and falling against his own.

"Hmm," the kid mumbled sleepily. "Ow."

Boone stiffened. _Ow?_ He had expected something along the lines of, 'God, that was awesome' or even, 'Oh Boone, take me again, you big man, you'.

Hey, Carla said it their first time together.

Or maybe the kid said 'Wow' and he heard it wrong. Yeah, it had to be.

"Wow?" he asked.

"Ow," the Courier repeated, more firmly this time. "But in a good way," he added.

"The hell is that supposed to mean? Hey!" Boone growled, but it was no good; the kid had fallen asleep. He resisted the urge to wake the kid up via a soft smack to the head. "Fucking dumbass," he muttered instead, then kissed the top of the sleeping man's head and closed his eyes.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

 He had no idea he had missed this so much. That heavenly feeling – no, certainty – that he was not waking up alone in an empty bed, but there was someone beside him, warming him, as they lay in each other's arms. He kept his eyes closed, not quite willing to fully wake up just yet, content to enjoy the pleasant warmth of the body snuggled up to him. He must have remained like that for at least another half an hour before he decided that time for cuddling was over and they had to return to more important business.

"Hey," Boone said softly to the Courier, "wake up."

The Courier stirred slightly, and then mumbled something Boone could not quite hear as the younger man slowly opened his eyes. "Hmm?" he muttered, still half-asleep. The kid has pretty eyes, Boone absently thought. Bedroom eyes.

He had wanted to ask the question much earlier – like when they had awakened sometime in the middle of the night – but it had been hard to do anything else other than to lean back and enjoy how the Courier was sucking him off, and then return the favour when the kid was done. After that the kid had insisted on cleaning up before going back to bed, and Boone had forgotten about the question then.

But it was morning, and this time was as good as any. "So," Boone said, "what did you mean by 'ow'?"

The kid blinked at him. "Huh? You woke me up just to ask that?"

Boone ignored the protest. "'Ow'. Why 'ow', of all things?"

"Because my ass hurts," the Courier grumbled, "why else would I say it?"

Boone stared at him. "I... didn't hurt you too much, did I?" he asked, at the same time lowering his hands so he could knead the Courier's lower back. He eyed the Stimpak on the nightstand. Would they need that?

"What? Oh, no. I'm fine." The kid yawned. "I liked it. Lots," he added, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

 _Then you could have said something other than 'ow',_ Boone wanted to snap, but doing that would be childish and thus bring him down to the dumbass Courier's level. No fucking way.

"Boone?" the Courier asked, and Boone felt the younger man's body tense a little.

"What?"

"You okay with this?" the kid asked. "You're not... um, I mean–"

"No," Boone interrupted him before he could launch into nervous babbling, "I'm fine with it." He was not regretting what they did last night, and was actually looking forward to something more. "In fact, I'm more than just fine with it," he said, lowering his hands a little further so he could squeeze the kid's ass a little.

The Courier snickered. "That's good," he said, smiling at Boone, "now if you'd get me one of those fresh apples, it'd be even better."

Boone stared at him. "Apples?"

"Yeah, apples. Didn't you leave those for me to eat when I woke up? You know, back in Goodsprings, when I injured my leg? Never thought anyone would notice how I hate eating two-hundred-year-old foodstuff."

Boone kept staring. "Why the fuck would I do some pansy-ass thing like that?"

Now it was the kid's turn to stare at him. "Huh? But I thought... wait, Arcade said that you–" The younger man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Never mind."

The sniper snickered, but not unkindly. "Like I said, pansy-ass thing. Wouldn't dream of doing something like that." He smirked and ruffled the Courier's hair. "You would though, what with you being too chickenshit to ask me to teach you how to shoot a rifle–"

"What the hell?" Now it was the Courier's turn to be slightly riled. "I thought you gave me all that coaching because you were sorry you punched me! I told you that I was better with pistols and why the hell would I bother to ask you for tips or pointers – not that I didn't mind all that time we spent shooting mole rats and radscorpions or anything, far from it, but–"

Boone shut him up with a quick smack to his ass.

"Ow! You asshole, that hurt!"

The sniper refused to say a word of apology, but he did rub the kid's ass soothingly. "So."

"So."

It was obvious now, really. Just who it was that had been shoving both of them into talking and spending more time together. All those innocent-sounding remarks and comments.

They looked at each other and groaned, "Arcade."

Likely even set up _everything_ last night, the manipulative bastard. How Boone would 'accidentally' hear that confession out of the Courier. After all, the Follower had said something about timing when Boone bumped into him in the hallway. A medical emergency at the Old Mormon Fort, his stupid lab-coat-wearing-ass. However....

Boone eyed the Stimpak on the nightstand. Did Arcade really think he was such a bad lover that they might have needed it?

"I'm gonna kill him," the sniper announced.

"No," the Courier said, somehow managing to sound very stern for someone who was stark naked and had just gotten a spank on the ass, "you're not. Then we'd have no one to patch us up if any one of us gets injured." He looked thoughtful for a bit before he added, "But I suppose it's okay if we hurt him a little. Just shoot his toe, maybe. Or burn his hair off. Something that he can treat himself." The kid snickered. "He did do both of us favour, right?" he asked, and then kissed Boone lightly on the lips.

"Yeah," Boone grudgingly admitted, "I suppose so."

At the very least, the sniper was thankful to Arcade for that bottle of lube.

 

\--x-x-x--

 

Arcade silently made his way into the Lucky 38 – he refused to think of it as creeping in, it sounded so demeaning – and noted that the casino floor was deserted, except for the two Securitrons guarding the elevator. Good. That meant that Boone and the Courier were likely still asleep, hopefully recovering from a long-overdue romp – or several romps – in bed.

It had been so easy to lead Boone downstairs, just to hear his conversation with an unsuspecting Courier. After Boone showed up, Arcade slipped away to seek shelter for the night at the Old Mormon Fort, telling everyone there a lie about how he felt like giving a helping hand for the night. He doubted that if anything went wrong, the two men would march into the 'Fort in a rage and kill everyone there, himself included.

Well, maybe _Boone_ would, but the Courier would have stopped him.

The sun had been up for a while now, Arcade absently observed as he sat at one of the tables, eating a banana yucca fruit. Perhaps both of them had more stamina than Arcade had expected. Surely nothing could have gone wrong; he had left certain supplies in the bedroom to further ease the – _ahem_ – culmination of those weeks of careful manipulative actions.

His work with plants and cacti, while had not produced any significant methods in producing meds, had brought some other results. Sure, Julie Farkas may not have been interested much in, of all things, something suitable for lubrication, but Arcade thought it was a welcome result all the same and even sold some of it on the sly.

His eyes widened when he realised something rather important. Oh shit, he had forgotten to label that bottle of lube! He was about to rush up to the suite to check if something had gone wrong, but managed to stop himself. Surely, those two would not be _that_ stupid. One of them must have figured out what the little bottle was for, right? And he did leave that Stimpak, just in case.

_Oh who am I kidding, with those idiots, anything could happen._

The elevator dinged, and Arcade somehow managed to recover from his half-mad scramble to the elevator to seat himself back at the table in time with his best smarmy expression, not a single hair out of place. His knee did hurt from accidentally hitting the chair though.

The elevator doors opened and the Courier stepped out, Boone close behind him. The younger man had his usual smile in place and did not look much different from any other day, but for one important detail.

He was wearing Boone's sunglasses.

"Morning," Arcade greeted. "Sleep well?" he asked somewhat slyly.

The kid's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Among other things, yes." He lifted the sunglasses and winked at Arcade. "Thanks," he said before he marched to the staircase leading to the lounge, presumably in search of something to eat. The Follower was amused when he noticed that the younger man walked with a slight limp.

Arcade turned his attention to Boone. The sniper had his arms crossed, but he looked somewhat pleased with himself. He did look much better without those sunglasses, Arcade noted.

"I should shoot you, you bastard," Boone grumbled.

Arcade rolled his eyes. "Is this the thanks I get? After all I've done for you two morons? Trust me, if it weren't for yours truly, your Courier would probably give up on you and go to that handsome Dr. Richards instead."

The sniper seemed to consider it. "Fine, I won't."

"Good. Goodness knows what he sees in you in the first place. Wait, you did insist that he's such a dumbass. Oh well, _de gustibus non est dispu–"_

"Mouth any more of that Legion bullshit at me and I _will_ shoot you."

Arcade wisely did not continue. "You're welcome," he said instead. 

 

\--x-x-x--

 

On their way out of the Strip, Boone noticed that Arcade had stopped the Courier to ask him something. Whatever it was, it must have been amusing, since the kid laughed and shook his head.

"What did Arcade say to you?" he asked the Courier some time later.

"Oh, nothing much."

"Really."

The kid grinned. "He just wanted to know if you took off your beret last night."

Boone decided that maybe he would shoot Arcade after all.

 

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> De gustibus non est disputandum - there is no arguing tastes.


End file.
